


Pushing and Drawing

by justbecauseyoubelievesomething



Series: Writer's Month 2020 Prompts [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Gardens & Gardening, Grounder Bellamy Blake, Grounder Clarke Griffin, Happy Ending, Kissing, Mutual Pining, Tattoo Artist Clarke, soft bellarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25652743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbecauseyoubelievesomething/pseuds/justbecauseyoubelievesomething
Summary: Clarke tries to lose herself in the soothing ritual of ink on skin. She needs to be careful to get the final touches as clean as possible. She prides herself on her work after all.But Octavia’s brother nags at the back of her brain.“What’s his name anyways?”“Oh! It’s Bellamy.”Bellamy.She doesn’t know exactly why she keeps turning his name over in her head as she finishes the tattoo and puts the proper dressings over Octavia’s shoulder. She doesn’t know why she keeps stealing glances at the man standing like a sentry in the mostly empty front room of her shop.Bellarke one-shot for Writer's Month 2020. Prompt 1: tattoo artist/flower shop AU.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Writer's Month 2020 Prompts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863823
Comments: 5
Kudos: 138
Collections: Writer's Month 2020





	Pushing and Drawing

**Author's Note:**

> Have some Bellarke fluff! I couldn't decide if I liked tattoo artist AU or flower shop AU better, so here's both.

Octavia is a regular in Clarke’s shop, coming in sometimes twice a month for Clarke to etch new inky black lines across her skin. The long block of warrior’s stripes across the girl’s shoulder is nearly done, the solid sections taking Clarke several patient hours bent over Octavia’s back, ignoring the way the summer heat makes sweat bead on the tip of her nose.

Clarke might even say that after the last few years, her and Octavia are friends. She’s listened to the girl talk about almost everything under the sun. So she’s more than a little surprised when Octavia arrives one afternoon at the height of summer with an unfamiliar man in tow. He’s tall and broad shouldered and the way he stands in the smallness of Clarke’s front room makes him seem even bigger, all wide defensive stance and stoically crossed arms.

“Who’s your friend?” Clarke asks as Octavia sits backwards in the chair, resting her arms and chin against the back.

“Oh, that’s my brother.” She tosses the information out casually, almost carelessly. “Do you think the stripes will be done today?”

Clarke nearly drops her cleaning tray in surprise. “You.. have a brother?”

Octavia blinks at her like she’s crazy. “Yes. He’s right there.”

“You’ve just... never mentioned a brother.”

Octavia rolls her eyes. “Because he’s a pain in the ass.”

Clarke sneaks another glance at the man. He stands so still that she swears he’s not even breathing, his dark gaze locked on some invisible point on one of her walls.

“Why is he here then?”

Octavia twitches slightly at the familiar prick of the needle against her skin. “He just moved here. From our farm back home.”

“Trishanakru, right?”

Octavia hums a soft agreement in her throat. Clarke steals another glance. His dark complexion and thick curls don’t look anything like Octavia.

“Why is he here in Polis?”

“Same reason I’m here.” Octavia doesn’t try to conceal the bitterness in her voice. “Our family is terrible. Just took him a little longer to realize it.”

“Hmm…” Clarke knows about terrible families. She’ll never go back to Azgeda, not while her mother is still alive.

“He needs to find something to do here,” Octavia murmurs, resting her head against her arms. “He’s been sleeping on my floor for two weeks. But he refuses to try any trade other than farming.”

Clarke tries to lose herself in the soothing ritual of ink on skin. She needs to be careful to get the final touches as clean as possible. She prides herself on her work after all.

But Octavia’s brother nags at the back of her brain.

“What’s his name anyways?”

“Oh! It’s Bellamy.”

Bellamy.

She doesn’t know exactly why she keeps turning his name over in her head as she finishes the tattoo and puts the proper dressings over Octavia’s shoulder. She doesn’t know why she keeps stealing glances at the man standing like a sentry in the mostly empty front room of her shop. She doesn’t know what compels her to follow Octavia to the front and reach out to touch Bellamy’s arm as he turns to go.

His gaze flashes up and locks with her’s.

“Hey,” she says gently, like she’s approaching a wounded animal.

He seems frozen.

“Octavia told me you… you’re trying to start some farming business here in Polis.”

The words sound stupid even to her and she ignores the way Octavia rolls her eyes and stomps out of the shop. Bellamy’s eyes narrow.

“What’s it to you?” His voice is deep and gravelly and sends a shiver up her spine. Or maybe that’s the way his arm flexes involuntarily under her fingers.

“I don’t use this front room.” She gestures around. “We could bring in some pots and stuff. I’m sure people would love a shop where they could buy fresh food. Most of our stuff is carted in from the outskirts of town and it’s half-wilted by the time you get to it in the market.”

She’s babbling. She knows she’s babbling.

She pulls her hand away from his arm, hot blush flaring across her cheeks.

“Just an idea. If you need the space.”

He keeps staring at her and she turns away quickly to hide her flaming skin. As she steps into the doorway to the back he clears his throat making her pause.

“I… I think that’s a good idea actually.”

“Really?” she looks back at him. He shuffles his feet slightly. Maybe he’s feeling just as awkward as her.

“Really,” he says. “Can I… can I start tomorrow?”

Her heart skips a beat. “Yes. Definitely, yes.”

He finally smiles. A warm smile. A good smile.

She’s going to make him smile again.

Bellamy fills the front room with huge pots of dirt. Clarke helps him build staggered shelves so that they can sit in rows, but still be seen by customers. They build square frames of splintered wood and Bellamy fills them with dirt until they have two entire garden beds on the floor of the shop. Clarke helps him dig holes and press seeds deep into the warm earth. A different sort of blackness stains under her fingernails and she feels just as much pride as she does in her ink stains.

Octavia maintains that they’re crazy, but after the third day, she shows up for work in the morning as well, helping Bellamy carry in delicate seedlings.

They plant herbs and vegetables and flowers. Clarke doesn’t understand why flowers. She questions Bellamy on them as she helps him push the bulbs into the soft dirt.

“They’re pretty,” he answers without a break in his tone, but now she knows him well enough to see the way the tips of his ears turn red.

It’s adorable.

He stays late some nights, the closer his shop gets to being ready. Clarke is reminded of the fervor she gets in when she puts the finishing touches on a tattoo, the single-minded dedication to the task. She admires him through the open doorway connecting the two rooms, even while she’s etching intricate designs across a client’s shoulder blades. She admires the way his eyes light up when new seedlings poke up through the dirt. She admires the way he treats them with an otherworldly reverence. She admires him in the heat of the day when he abandons his shirt on the windowsill and his bare back stretches like a canvas just waiting for her ink.

“Why no tattoos?” she finally asks him, one of the late nights.

He pauses. “I don’t know.”

“I could…” she fiddles her sleeve suddenly shy, “I could give you one if you want.”

He stares at her and her words suddenly stumble over her tongue as she tries to fix her blunder.

“I mean… I do high quality work. That’s all I…”

“Sure.”

“What?”

He pulls his shirt off and she tries not to gape open-mouthed, too aware of how close they’re sitting.

“I said, sure.” He flips his chair around, propping his chin and arms against the back just like Octavia does.

“Right… right now?”

“You’re the one who brought it up.” She hears the smile in his voice now, a teasing tone. A dare.

“Right.” She pulls her tools out, always within arm’s reach. “Do you even have something in mind?”

“No.” She frowns at him as he glances back at her. “You pick for me.”

“I… what?”

“I trust you.”

Her hands are trembling as she runs her cleaning rag over his back and she screams inwardly at herself to get a grip. She’s committed now.

His back is smoother than she thought. Dotted with dark freckles. She absently traces them with her finger, drawing some sort of constellation.

Bellamy flinches slightly and she snaps her finger back.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“No, no I’m…” Clarke clears her throat, glad he can’t see her blush. “I was just trying to… decide what to draw.”

“Right.” She notes the tips of his ears growing pink, but he’s trapped in her chair now and can’t duck out of the room to hide it. 

She longs to trace his back again, to just spend time letting her hands explore his skin, but she shoves the feeling down and readies her ink and needles.

If Bellamy is the embodiment of anything in her life, he’s green things, growing things, life-giving things. No warrior’s stripes or fear-inspiring marks for Bellamy. His bare back is her bed of unblemished earth and she takes a deep breath and starts to put down her roots.

He starts to relax the longer she works, the hours of the night beginning to stretch on. Octavia would be wondering where her brother was. Clarke would have clients early the next morning. But everything else seems far away, as if they’re sitting in a dream. There’s only the soft murmur of their voices as they talk about mundane things and the gentle press of Clarke’s needle on Bellamy’s skin. She sketches a flower, the way Bellamy described it to her like it was an intricate machine. The long roots dip down to his lower back, while the stem stretches up along his spine. The leaf is complex, veins branching out like thin spider’s silk. The blossom opens up to spread its petals across the width of his shoulders, the richly heavy center resting just below the nape of his neck.

She pulls her long mirror around behind him as he holds up a smaller one so he can see the finished art.

“I…I’m...”

He stutters and Clarke’s heart drops for a millisecond.

“I love it.”

Her hand is shaking again and without thinking she reaches out to brush it softly along the top of his shoulder. “It will need some time to heal. I’ll give you the dressings and Octavia knows how to change them just…”

He twists around in his seat, catching her hand and pressing it up against his cheek. Her breath snags in her throat.

Bellamy’s eye’s are deep and dark and warm. She feels the clench of his jaw under her palm, the tremble of his cheek as he swallows.

“Clarke…”

She rubs her thumb along his cheekbone unthinkingly and his eyelids flutterr.

“Clarke…” A faint whisper that stands out in stark contrast to the insistent tug of his hands as he pulls her into his lap. She sits, straddling him, both hands cradling his cheeks now. He smells like dirt and wood and ink and everything she holds dear. And when he grabs the back of her head like it’s a question and a plea, she meets his lips willingly and tastes the wild gentleness of her farm boy.

She never wants to stop tasting him.

Within a few years, the tattoo and flower shop on the eastern side of Polis is renowned throughout the city. The tattoos are the highest quality art, the artist attending to every detail personally. And the flower shop doesn’t just brighten the whole street with its window boxes of rainbow bouquets. It also boasts fresh herbs and vegetables almost year round due to the great care and innovation of the gardener. And at night after the shop is closed, the gardener and the artist lock the doors together and walk hand in hand in the summer twilight, sweet and simple bonding tattoos crossing their linked ring fingers.

  
  



End file.
